The Waitress's Daughter
by silverarm
Summary: An impressionable young girl is entertained by tales of Vash the Stampede. One shot. PG-13 rating for some strong language.


The Waitress's Daughter  
  
The girl spun around slowly on her stool. Her scrawny little legs swung idly, unobstructed by the ground. Black patent shoes hung halfway off of her toes as she leaned forward onto the diner's countertop and yawned.  
  
She grasped the straw from her drink with two fingers and tapped it up and down, humming as she did so. Two stools down the counter, a man was entertaining the diner's other customers with recent gossip.  
  
"It's a mess there, now," the man explained dramatically. He waved an arm to emphasize the point. "The town hall was half torn down, and the bar's a charred wreck. Dunno when the Feds are going to finally do something about that bastard."  
  
A few of the roughly assembled audience nodded solemnly, while the girl leaned forward and obnoxiously slurped her drink. Her head tilted inquisitively in the speaker's direction.  
  
"It's a disgrace," agreed the waitress, ignoring her daughter's blatant attempt to attract attention. "What do we pay taxes to them for if there's no guarantee of safety?"  
  
"Well, I'm not going to just stand around and wait for the same thing to happen here," the first growled. "If he so much as sets foot in this town, I'll blow his goddamned brains out with my automatic." The aforementioned weapon was seated comfortably in his lap. "I've traveled all around this dusty planet and seen a lot of shit, and I know how to protect myself. Saw myself what that wretch did to July, and I've seen a lot of the other stuff he did too, and if he ever tries it here I'll kill the motherfucker."  
  
"Watch your language," his drinking companion warned, smiling. A long-fingered hand gestured in the girl's direction, and the first speaker grinned apologetically.   
  
"Sorry, little miss." The girl's stare became more fixed. Two scrawny chicken legs kicked at the stool underneath her. He turned to the waitress. "What's a small fry like that doing here all by herself?"  
  
She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "That's my little girl. Don't know why she doesn't go play outside, anyway. It's too nice of a day to be sitting indoors." She tapped the girl's back forcibly. "Sit up straight, dear."  
  
The girl scowled and merely slouched down even more. "Don't wanna go outside," she muttered in protest. "Wanna listen to the story."  
  
The man laughed. "There's not much to hear, little lady. 'Least, not much for your virgin ears. You're too young to worry about outlaws anyway."  
  
The girl sat up attentively, grinning mischievously to reveal a gap in her front teeth. "But, I wanna hear about outlaws." The smile widened. "Tell me a story, mister. Tell me about the places you've seen."  
  
Her mother's eyes widened in horror. "Don't you bother this nice man to entertain you!"  
  
The girl was not deterred. She was willing to put up with a little bit of resistance if it got the desired results. "Pleeeeease?" She batted her eyelashes at him and put on the most cherubic expression that she could muster.  
  
The man caved. "Well, I don't suppose it would hurt. If your mother don't mind too much, that is?"   
  
The waitress sighed heavily and caved as well. "Fine. But don't you talk about dead bodies or devils or anything unnatural like that. She's young and impressionable, and she's bad enough as it is."  
  
"Thank you, mommy!" the girl crowed, wrapping her arms eagerly about the waitress's middle. "I'll clean my room tonight, honest!"  
  
"Fine, fine." The waitress laughed reluctantly and pried her daughter's arms away. "I've got work to do, so just mind that you behave yourself." She narrowed her eyes. "And no cussing, missy." She glared at the customer as well. "That goes for you as well."  
  
"'Kay." The waitress stalked off to make some fresh coffee, leaving her child to be entertained. The man's eyebrows were raised in surprise and mock fear. Best not to incur the wrath of the waitress, but he'd tell a story anyway. That little girl was cute as a button, and he loved how excited she was to hear him talk.  
  
"Well," the man said, taking another bite of his sandwich, "what do you want to hear, little miss?"  
  
"Did you really see July…?" Her eyes were round with unbridled enthusiasm.  
  
"Well, I was in a town nearby. Saw some flashes of light and heavy, strange clouds." He looked thoughtful. "But, I don't understand what happened. Reckon nobody does, 'cept for that old bastard that caused it."  
  
The child grinned at hearing more profanity. "So, you saw it?"  
  
"Yeah. But this was a coupla years back, and I tried to forget about most of it. Horrible sight, like the sky just opened up and let the devil's own hellfire pour out." His honest brow wrinkled with the effort of thought, and he folded his arms across the countertop. More to himself, he continued to speak. "They say he ain't human, and I believe it. The Stampede, he can't be no normal man. No normal man can control the lightning or bring a whole city to gravel. He's a goddamned devil."  
  
"Sounds scary." The little girl was a good audience, contorting her face into what she believed was an expression of fear. It actually made her look constipated, but the man didn't notice.   
  
"It was. I don't think I'll ever erase that memory, little missy. Hope you never see nothing like that in your life."  
  
The girl nodded and, within the confines of her own head, prayed that she someday would. It sounded fascinating, all those lights and clouds and hellfire. It must have been beautiful to watch the silhouette of July as it crumbled. Fun to see, like an anthill being knocked over. Dangerous and exciting.  
  
The man looked over at the little girl and was taken aback at the smile plastered across her youthful face. He felt his stomach tighten at the mere thought of someone actually enjoying this story.  
  
"I think that's enough for now, little missy." He pushed his stool backward and stood. "I'll pay my tab now, ma'am!"  
  
The waitress hurried over with a bill in hand. "Hope my little girl didn't bother you too much. She can be a bit of a handful sometimes."  
  
"Nah," he replied unconvincingly, ushering her off to one side. He wanted to get out of earshot of the little girl.  
  
"What is it?" the waitress asked. Her face was troubled.  
  
"You maybe need to keep an eye on that one. Shouldn't let her listen to anymore stories in the diner. I don't think it's healthy for a little girl."  
  
"I know." The woman sighed heavily. "The way she talks about destruction, you'd think it were just a good story and not real life."  
  
"Well, a story's not bad," the man replied, "but just you mind she don't go chasing after one. I've lived enough trouble to tell you that it's just that. Trouble. Keep your little girl out of it if you can."  
  
The waitress frowned. It was true about her daughter. Women's intuition or superstition, call it what you like, but sometimes the woman had nightmares about the girl growing up and getting into trouble too big for her. "I will. Don't you worry." She'd stomp this ridiculous streak out of her daughter if it killed her.  
  
"Well, goodbye, ma'am. See you tomorrow, maybe? I'm headed out to New Oregon on Monday, but I reckon I can manage another trip here before then."  
  
"Sure," the waitress replied, waving goodbye to him. She walked across the diner to where her daughter had slumped inattentively against the counter. The girl was kicking it in a huff.   
  
"He didn't finish the story," she whined, pushing her glass away with the back of a hand. Her pouting lip jutted out to distort the normally angelic physiognomy into a nearly unrecognizable form.  
  
Mrs. Stryfe sighed and shook her head. There was no changing her daughter's nature. "Meryl, go clean your room now."  
  
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I do not own Trigun, the planet Gunsmoke, or any of its inhabitants. Apologies to Yasuhiro Nighow, who does. 


End file.
